It is the day before St. Patty’s Day. A major holiday in our home. It started as a birthday party for my father, a true leprechaun in this life. It became bigger as Zane grew up, relishing and embellishing in all its magic. No matter where our family is on this day, we gather at some watering hole to toast being Irish.  Truly, we are only a wee bit Irish (Scandinavian descent is larger) but that fact is ignored because we live and love like the Irish.

Last year the celebration began early and continued into the night. We brought the ‘dude’ as a symbol that Zane is partying with us. We hopped from one bar to the next, family and friends in tow, and I promised myself the next year would be quieter. I am older, and recovery takes much longer. So, this year, we have planned to live vicariously through the kids, meeting up with them at only one or two spots. Knowing us, that is probably blarney…. what is important is our honoring of this special day.

Traditions are the stitches that hold a group together. They are shaken, sometimes abandoned in grief. With the loss of a loved one who was the catalyst for a specific tradition, the details are obviously different. That is the most bittersweet part. We want to continue a tradition that we once enjoyed, but how do we do that when the one who led it is not with us.  It takes courage. It takes perseverance. If I’m being honest, it takes a liquid shot or two.

What I noticed about this celebration, is the joy on my daughter’s face and the faces of Zane’s friends, who are now ours. There is a magic in the air, a lightness. This is a day one is expected to be jubilant, to celebrate with a raised glass to all that we have here and beyond. It gives us permission to believe in fairies and rainbows. It is a bright color, the color of life. 

Zane always wore a tie on this day, it was that special.  A green tie, of course. Our drinks needed to be tinted. A shamrock houseplant was purchased every year as were chocolate gold coins and Purdy’s mint bars. We still do these things each year, including pinching anyone who is not wearing a shade of green. That was Zane’s favorite as a young boy. He pinched my father every year, laughing that “Buppa didn’t have green on”. My dad did that on purpose; just to hear Zane laugh.

Oh God, how I treasure them both. St. Patty’s Day is an annual wake for me. To laugh, to cry, to shout at the Heaven’s of how much they are missed. My father, my heart’s first love, and my son, my heart’s last love. This day is a loud reminder of the pleasure they took in the company of good friends, with a cold beverage, a hot meal and the ability to dance to the music of life.

A toast to you both, two of my favorite reasons to raise a glass, any day.

If all good time that e’er we shared,

I leave to you fond memory;

And for all the friendship that e’er we had

I ask you to remember me;

And when you sit and stories tell,

I’ll be with you and help recall;

So, fill to me the parting glass,

Good night, and joy be with you all.

~An excerpt from “The Parting Glass”